


Les Mêmes Mots (The Same Words)

by clk_boom



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Français | French, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 17:10:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clk_boom/pseuds/clk_boom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only thing you want is to hold and be held. But all he wants is to tell and be told.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Les Mêmes Mots (The Same Words)

**Author's Note:**

> The song, if you want to look it up, is a famous French song called "Paroles, Paroles" by Dalida. It's a fun listen!

You were required to take a language in school. You never thought it'd be rewarding or enjoyable, but it was both. You, being the epitome of irony, at least in your little brother's eyes, took French on the premise that it was the "language of love" and all the girls (or guys - you never really cared) would fall head over heels for it. You'd said it to your friends with a chuckle and a shrug, but never realized that someone may take you seriously.

But there he was, your arm slung around him as you sat watching a movie. Some god-awful thing he picked that you agreed to just because he may have pleaded a little too emphatically. There he was because he thought French was cool. You had started off with that for an icebreaker, but then you found similar interests in music, singing along to Ke$ha shamelessly at 2AM, as well as food, and you just generally enjoyed each other's company.

 It's just that all he ever does is talk.

_(Encore des mots, toujours les mots, les mêmes mots)_

It drives you insane sometimes because

_(Rien que des mots)_

the things he says are  **so** sweet

_(Des mots faciles, des mots fragiles)_

and you think maybe there are alterior motives.

You looked over at him just as he leaned his head on your shoulder and sighed. How could you ever think something like that about sweet, loving Jake? Jake, who made and brought you the best soup when you were ill and didn't mind kissing you when you were flu-ridden and stuffy. Jake, who always had some sort of trinket or something even though you'd told him a thousand times that it makes you feel bought.

Maybe he was trying to buy you.

_(Merci, pas pour moi)_

Either because he's scared of losing you or

_(Mais tu peux bien les offrir à une autre)_

just because he thinks he can.

_(qui aime le vent et le parfum des roses)_

You refuse to be bought for either reason.

You've tried so hard to give him everything he needed -- wanted -- from you. So determined to spoil him with physical attention were you, you feel like Jake has cut ou every time he pushes you off. The two of you are speaking two different love languages, you've noticed, and you'd both resorted to screaming at each other, trying to get one another to  **understand**.

 But words aren't the same for you,

_(Moi, les mots tendres enrobés de douceur)_

no matter how much you try, they feel empty.

_(Se pose sur ma bouche, mais jamais sur mon cœur)_

Touches are real and  **more** , but he just talks. **  
**

_(Une parole encore)_

He just tells you, hardly initiates showing you.

Even when you told him that it never hit home, that you just wished he'd hold you and let you do the same, he seemed to avoid it. It soared over his head and the only thing it seemed like he heard was "I don't feel loved," completely ignoring the rest of your sentence, which went something like "when you're constantly shrugging me off." He just went into a rant about "I let you know all the time!" and "I'm doing the best I can and-" his voice cracked and that killed you. "And I just love you so much." That time, it'd touched something in your heart. When he  **kept** saying it, how much he loved you and how he wished he could do and be more, it faded. Died away.

 He does that still, and the more he talks,

_(Rien ne t'arrête quand tu commence)_

the more it kills you -- the more you just want

_(Si tu savais comme j'ai envie)_

to quiet everything about him

_(Un peu de silence)_

and  **show** him how to love you.

But sometimes hot, steamy makeouts make him feel awkward. Or even the way you wrap your arms around his waist and rest your chin on his shoulder. On rare occasions, he even gently shakes his hand out of yours while you walk. Every time he did something like that, you always felt like someone stabbed you in the stomach. You never said anything, never made a face, just let it happen. You would sometimes mention that it made you upset, but the conversation never quite progressed past that. You're starting to realize why.

You're screaming at each other, and Jake got so worked up that he swung out an arm in the small space of your apartment and sent a lamp crashing to the floor. You both disregarded it, and you've progressed to shouting within two, maybe three inches within each other's faces. He backs off first.

"Maybe if you weren't such an insufferable suspicious prick who can't listen worth a damn maybe just fucking  **maybe** you would understand what I'm trying to do here!" Jake spits out the words in a continuous, high-decibel assault like bullets from one of the automatic guns he's always looking at in magazines.

_(Paroles,)_

"Maybe if you just let me reach out to you once in a fucking millenium, I wouldn't feel like you were hiding shit from me!" You feel more like you vomit your argument.

"God, you're such a fuckin' child! You're so **bent** on having sex, is that what's wrong with you?" The way his loving words cut you before, his hateful ones slash you to pieces. You're falling apart.  _Is that what's wrong with you?_

_(Paroles,)_

"You know what, no, no it isn't! I don't want to have sex with you until you want to, alright? And know what, I might not even want to just then, either. All I ever fucking want is to feel my body next to yours, sharing space and breath and everything that we are for just-- just..." this time it was your voice that cracked. Your eyes that welled up with tears. Your voice that dropped from siren to just above a whisper. "Just five minutes. Ten." You let out a puff of air and compose yourself quickly. "And you can't do that? Not for one day?" It's raising to a shout again. You hate yelling at Jake but Jake is yelling at you and you're making him mad but he's making you mad and you can't stop the cycle and right now you feel like you could scream at each other until the sun dies out.

"No, no, fuck this. After all I do for you--"

"You don't do shit! You just talk and ta--"

" _I'm not done_. After all I do for you, you've got some gumption asking for  **more**!"

_(Paroles)_

"I've hardly asked you for much, ever! Don't you dare stand there and tell me that I have some mad sort of audacity to be asking you for some face time! Maybe, since you're so inclined to avoid me, you should just turn around and  **leave**." No. No. You didn't just...

"Are you..." Jake's voice got weaker, quieter. "Are we?" You stand silently for a moment, looking at the space between your Chucks' toes and for just once, he seems wordless.

_(Encore des paroles que tu sèmes au vent)_

"Yeah, I, um. I think we are." You feel something sink as you see his boots retreat backwards a few steps.

"Oh. I uh... Guess we had it comin'." You nod. He comes closer. His toes touch yours. He lifts up your chin and takes your hand. He kisses you, quickly like he always has. "Sorry. I really am. I shoulda... I should've listened." You pat his shoulder and give a halfhearted smirk.

"Maybe we can...try again in a few months. Just get our heads on straight, right?" He grins that beautiful grin and you just have to return it. This time when he kisses you, it's less bitter and more hopeful. There's a happy end in sight.


End file.
